No ownership. No profit.
Webisode based. Since there was no one mentioned as the house pilot for the Sanctuary, I decided that was probably part of Ashley's job. And I have named the butler: "Ntamqeh Dene" - Black Bear Man.
Hello. My name is Ashley.
My mother is 157 years old and ageless, if not immortal, and my father is a murdering, teleporting, time traveling psychopath – and I don't even know his last name. John my Mother calls him – with that remark about his whores I guess I don't even know if that's really his name. Hell, all I really know is that my Mother doesn't deny the psycho sired me, and I didn't even know he existed until today.
Last night.
Yesterday.
Whatever the hell that was.
And, if whatever the hell that was doesn't qualify me for official membership in the "Children Who Have Been Fucked Up By Their Parents" club, I don't know what would.
Oh, God – I want to kill that psycho freak!
And the idea of kicking my fucking oblivious mother straight into her next incarnation sounds pretty damned good right about now, too.
She never even asked me what happened. She never asked me what he did to me, if he hurt me – hell, not even what he said to me. Not even after Ntamqeh was out of recovery after surgery, awake and stable.
Nope – plenty of time to tell me to make the arrangements with the Professor to place Ghoul Boy Du Jour in his Institute before she goes into surgery. Plenty of time to tell me how she intends to invite Dr. Will 'Sasquatch-phobic" Zimmerman to work with her after she comes out of surgery, and plenty of time to tell me to round up Whinge-Meister Foss and have him help me transport tentacle boy to the Institute as soon as she's laid down the law about how I have to respect the stuck-up little head-shrinker, and go pick up nice clean clothes for the poor widdle man as soon as I get home from New York – but no time to so much as ask me if I'm all right.
And – I don't think I am.
And now I have to fly to New York, with passengers, and go over to Widdle Will's apartment and pack an overnight bag for him, too, before I can even try for any sleep. God, I'm dead on my feet and I don't know that I'm all right to fly. Hell - I don't think I'm all right period.
God – I don't think I am.